A bit about my guy

I don’t write a lot about Russ, even though I met him when I was 21. That’s a long forty-three years ago. He was the only guy about who I called Mom after a second date (okay, it was more than a date) to say I was in love. I knew I wasn’t ready to make any major decisions about serious commitments. After all, we both had plans for independent world travels coming up that next year. (Russ on a project in Syria and me to cycle in Europe.) Two years later I moved from Missoula to Seattle for graduate school and we tried being apart, which mostly didn’t work for us. And then we lived together, bought a house and eventually got married. (Our wedding invitation exclaimed, “Dede and Russ are getting married…finally.”) I’m one of those who knew I wanted kids from the start, and made him promise before we decided to get married that we’d have them. I still tease him about being particularly glad to have kept my last name those years later when he became mayor. Of course, mostly that’s a joke as I was proud of him in those sometimes difficult years.

Last week at my book event, I felt a huge renewed surge of love for this guy. He has backed me without question during my writing journey. At the Astoria Library, he sat in the back, offered a comment, and handled sales as I signed books. As we packed up afterward, he told me how much he’s loved watching me on this journey. I shared less of this path and quest with him during my earliest books, beginning with my 2017 memoir, My Music Man. After all, I was also working full time, caring for my mom and he had just become a city councilor, and then a mayor. His late nights with long meetings opened up time for me, but the meetings and challenging issues – not something a professional geologist would expect to contend with – also took away from our time together. But in recent years, especially with A Map of Her Own, we both had time for me to invite him into more than just my events, but my brainstorms.

Last week in Ocean Park, after returning from a long solo beach walk, I peered outside toward the ocean and caught a glimpse of him doing what he loves: taking care of our property. In our first years together, I felt guilty nearly as if I needed to match minute for minute his time trimming trees or mowing the path to the beach. And yes, I too love my garden and yard time, even if my back and body tire before his. But I too find joy in writing and reading; as much as he finds his puttering in the yard. We have created time and space for both. (And, I did just have a big win as this spouse of mine admitted he should no longer go on the roof of our house to blow off fir catkins. Yay!)

One thing we’ve benefited from is the love and support from both our families. My dad loved Russ like a fifth son, just as my brothers treat him as their fifth brother. I’m grateful for all that (as long as they don’t gang up on me!) And, I hope to never forget an early outing Mom joined us on long ago as she visited Missoula and we hiked into the Bitterroot Mountains.

“But on this hike back in those earlier days, Russ and I stripped naked to jump into an icy alpine lake. Being naked meant nothing: we were euphoric and appreciated our bodies for what they enabled us to experience. We invited Mom to join us as part of our generation: that it was okay to share this gorgeous lake unburdened by clothing. When Russ and I provided basic care for Mom in her last months of life, as sad as we felt in some moments, we too didn’t see her physical body. We knew how much it had allowed her to do; and we still had glimpses of her spirit and determination. Today it feels part of the circle of our life, precious moments shared with this amazing woman.”
From First Breath to Last: A Story About Love, Womanhood and Aging, The Power of the Wild

The T.J. Potter

Waking up to our quiet day at Illahee, surrounded by ship and long ago momentos, I mused about my time the day before at the Columbia River Maritime Museum. Although I’ve visited it before, I took a bit more time while Russ took a Zoom call and before our Riverwalk ramble and later library event. First, I thanked a museum researcher for information she shared as I was drafting A Map of Her Own. And then, as I toured the exhibit, I struck gold by finding the model of the grand T.J. Potter steamship. It kicked off an afternoon and evening of synchronicity between sites and chance meetings and chats with folks I’d never before met.

Some may recall that not only was our dad once the President of the Oregon Maritime Museum or Steamer Portland, our grandfather traveled as a child from Portland to Megler aboard the T.J. Potter. I am grateful for both his and his sister’s (Frances Montgomery Brewster) writings left behind which in fact informed the attached paragraph of fictional character Emma’s first steamboat ride aboard the T.J. Potter in A Map of Her Own.

Books I’m Reading

I just finished Michael Pollan’s audiobook, A World Appears: A Journey Into Consciousness. I found it interesting, even if I had to replay a few sections I daydreamed through. Most fascinating to me, and I had to search more information to fact check it, is the claim that about 25% of people use inner speech as a thought type. Inner speech means words spoken silently in the mind, usually with tone, pacing and inflection. Um – hello – that is me all the time. Others, instead, might do “unsymbolized thinking” or inner seeing (images, movies and mental pictures) or feelings. I’m still thinking through this. I did enjoy this book but might have done better if I’d read it rather than listened, which I might do next time.

I’m also currently in the middle of Starry and Restless: Three Women who Changed Work, Writing, and the World by Julia Cooke. The book is full of fascinating biographical stories and details, and I appreciate learning things I feel a bit like I should have known. I would say that the organization of the book has taken me a bit to naturally follow along, but I do recommend it. Too, it felt a good time to take a break and sneak in an easier read before jumping back to finish it.

If anyone noticed me quickly packing up to leave the Northwest Book and Media Fest on Saturday, I had a good excuse. The funny part about it? I don’t think anyone really cares if a book vendor hits the streets a few minutes before it is officially over. All my years working in outreach and exhibiting at dozens (okay, hundreds?) of conferences over the years has shaped me. I still remember signing agreements that we would not leave early, and then the moment the clock struck the hour, the rush of exhibitors packing up, carpets being rolled up nearly as you walked out as the convention center readied for its next event.

So, what was my good excuse for skedaddling? I had to get to our public library by its 4 pm Saturday closing time. As soon as Elizabeth Strout’s newest book was released I put the title on hold. I do own most of her other works, and may find myself breaking down and buying this one too – not always successfully whittling down my book inventory. And because we’d been out of town for a few days, I knew that although I’d made it to the “your hold is ready” slot, I was about to lose it. With ten minutes to spare (no speeding either), I checked out Strout’s The Things We Never Say. I don’t know about you, but I am never disappointed by this author. If I were to identify an author who I feel the most alignment with in my own writing (please do not read this as saying I do any of it as effectively as her) it is Elizabeth Strout. I put my other books on pause and gave myself permission to pore through this over the weekend. I find her books easy to read, engaging and emotionally gorgeous. I began crying as character Artie was stopped by a storeowner after shoplifting. It was here I was grateful to share with Russ why I was so impacted. I likened Strout’s scene to my own in Humanity’s Grace.

“Forgetting something?” The pitch of the man’s voice rose, and Cal watched his hand move behind the counter. Maybe a phone, hopefully not a gun. The store was silent around them and he felt stuck in the
moment, surrounded only by the hiss of cars driving outside on the wet street. He heard his dad’s words in his ear: Wimp. Softie. Can’t do anything right. Cal slowly shook his head and took steps toward the door.

The man yelled from behind the counter. A tear dripped onto Cal’s cheek and it made him angry. What was wrong with him? Now he was about to fuck up this simple thing. Cal stopped and starred at the floor, unsure what to do next. He wanted to wipe the tears from his eyes, but he was afraid it would knock the lump out from under his coat. And that was when it happened, the act he hadn’t thought much
about recently, until this morning with the stooped old woman who had been crying before visiting her son.

“I’ll give you a minute to do what you should.” The voice was suddenly gentle. Cal couldn’t figure out why the voice would be soft, as if a kind man giving fatherly direction, not an angry order from someone about to call the police.
Humanity’s Grace, The Badge.

I cried as I finished The Things We Never Say. Sometimes we need a good cry. Too, I give Strout credit for bringing our current political divide into the story; for which I imagine she’ll lose some of her audience. And yet for so many of us, it impacts our daily well-being, behavior and friendships, just as it did for character Artie. I appreciate Elizabeth Strout for bringing humanity of characters into her stories. A sentence that really got me: “Because to say anything real was to say things that nobody wanted to know. Or if they wanted to know, they would not care in the right way. Or even understand….It was a private thing, to be alive. He understood this now.”

Thank you to authors who touch our emotions. Thank you for reminding us about our strengths and our weaknesses, that it is okay to screw up and okay to apologize. About just what it is to be human. Then and now.

The Earthquake: Giving

While there feels little we can do to help those impacted in Venezuela, money can buy supplies and other resources. And if you believe in the power of prayer, that too. We can earmark our donations for the “2026 Venezuela Earthquake Response.” Here are four suggested organizations, I’m choosing the first…for now:

• International Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies (IFRC) – focus on search and rescue, mobile health clinics, emergency shelter, and distributing clean drinking water.
  Donate directly through the IFRC Venezuela Earthquake Appeal.
• World Vision – specializing in child welfare and community support.
• UNICEF – supplying emergency medical and nutritional kits, water purification tablets, and establishing temporary learning and psychosocial support spaces for displaced children.
• PAN American Health Organizstion (PAHO/WHO) – deploying field engineers to evaluate structural integrity of hospitals, mass casualty maangaement kids and supporting triage centers.

P.S.

July will be a quieter event month for me, although I’d love to see you at the Washougal Market on Friday, July 17 where I will be the featured author. And yes, I’ll have books to sell! I too will be meeting with a private book group and invite you to consider that for any of my books you might be reading.

Thank you to the Astoria Library, reporter Patrick Webb, and attendees for a wonderful event. Here’s one of my takeaways.